


Taste the Violence

by FAB900



Series: Gold Fronts [2]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Betrayal, Blackmail, Blood As Lube, Blood and Gore, Bottom Sam, Clothed Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Glasses, Gross, Guilt, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Mutilation, Outdoor Sex, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rough Sex, Sexual Confusion, Snuff, Stalking, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FAB900/pseuds/FAB900
Summary: "Time to hear you scream, Sam."
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan, Sam Porter Bridges/Other(s)
Series: Gold Fronts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644628
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87
Collections: Depravity In Writing





	Taste the Violence

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... enjoy?

If Sam was better at deluding himself, he could believe that everything is normal. The routine of waking up, preparing himself for the day, and then heading out for deliveries is something he falls back into relatively quickly after... everything that had happened.

But he's not very good at make-believe, and in the days following Higgs' 'visit', Sam's noticed... things. Or, to be more precise, how people treat him. Die-Hardman can't look at him in the eye most of the time, and Lockne's voice whenever she talks to him has a softer, pitying tone to it.

And _those_ are the less obvious changes. Deadman can't stop blushing and stuttering whenever he calls – and Sam's first encounter with meeting Heartman face-to-face had been even more awkward than expected, as the scientist brought up the discussion of intercourse, then had hastily tried covering up the blunder. Sam's sure that Fragile too would act weird... yet he's been avoiding her, and avoiding using her beach to get around, so he hasn't seen her to confirm his suspicions. Although maybe she doesn't know; after all, she isn't a member of Bridges, and Sam is sure if she _did_ know, she'd have something to say... right? He doesn't want her pity – but he considers her a... _friend_ , and deep down he knows it's more unlikely that she _doesn't_ know, and that Fragile is actually just avoiding him.

Everyone around him is walking on eggshells, that much is clear – silently judging him, whispering about him behind his back, and it's pissing him off; they're trying to be thoughtful, but their kindness is hurting him more than if they just came out with whatever they want to say. At least in the mountains he doesn't have to talk to anyone, deal with anyone – Sam isn't sure why he's still in the godforsaken snow peaks, when he has to pass the tar belt—

—Scratch that, he knows _exactly_ why he's stalling.

Higgs. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the asshole is going to be waiting for him on the other side of the black sea. Grinning and prancing around with his unshakeable confidence... the image of the terrorist has Sam grinding his molars in anger as he exits the safe house for the day. The bastard hasn't been seen since the assault, and Sam isn't sure if that's a good thing or not. Good, because he never wants to meet with Higgs again, yet also bad because not knowing _where_ or _what_ the man is doing sets him on edge.

It often plays in the back of Sam's mind if the separatist is still stalking him, too. Every time he goes to unzip his pants to relieve himself, or strips to jump into a hot spring, Sam always has to look around first, just to make sure. He never sees anyone, yet he can't shake off the feeling that Higgs is there, lurking, unseen and unheard.

Sam shakes his head as he enters the lift, patting Lou's pod and adjusting his glasses (clear lenses, black frames – they look good on him, if he says so himself). Getting her back had been a great distraction – mostly because he had to go through another supercell to retrieve her. Meeting the soldier again – who Sam now knows is called Cliff – wasn't very pleasant, mostly from guilt as the porter had recalled his fantasies about the man immediately the moment he saw him, Cliff's exotic voice and masculine presence hitting Sam in a place that was... inappropriate, considering the situation at the time. Thankfully he hadn't been able to dwell on it for long, as bullets and explosions had been a more pressing matter.

A tear falls down his face as an overwhelming mixture of dread and sadness surges through him as Sam hooks up to his BB, and, in turn, connects to the other side. It never gets better; no matter how many times the courier has done this by now. Thankfully there's no flashbacks this time. _Those_ always made Sam cry harder because of the undercurrent sense of longing running through the memories of a loving father he was forced to bear witness to, making him feel shittier than usual. Like many things, he doesn't know if the yearning comes from Lou, or himself. Neither thought is good; if the kid wants to see her father, then hasn't he failed? Aren't his affections enough? He tries so hard to be good to her... yet perhaps, his best just isn't good enough. Maybe Lou's tiny little heart doesn't have room for him, too.

On the flip side... _if_ it's _him_ feeling like he's missing something, then that's an old wound being scratched open. Bridget had adopted him, but hadn't been there in his life much. Amelie, on the other hand, had been the one to dry his tears and comfort him during his childhood – as much as Sam loved Bridget, deep down, Amelie had been there for him more... not that she was a constant parental figure in his life either, due to her preference of being on the beach.

An absent adoptive mother and a sister who he never saw outside of the beach... and no father. Bridget hadn't married, never got involved with men, leaving Sam, more often than not, on his own. It had left him wishing that he had a dad, or just anyone, to come home to during the brief time he had actually went to school, before being privately tutored at home.

School, his childhood, the beach – Sam grunts as he flicks through the terminal, checking for orders. The downside of having so many long stretches of quietness in his line of work meant it leaves him free to think, to remember _things_ that Sam would gladly never think about again. Like school – he hadn't fitted in, no matter how many different ones Bridget had sent him to. Boys would play too rough and carelessly touch him, and girls stayed within their own groups. Then the older they got, the more aware the other kids were of his situation – adopted. President's son. A repatriate. DOOMS sufferer; the whispers behind his back had been insufferable. Soon after, the whispers had turned into insults to his face, then physical as they had bullied him for being 'different'. The logic was that they, the bullies, could be as hurtful as they liked, to someone who couldn't die.

The memory hurts. It was long ago, yet it still smarts so many years later. The punches. The kicks. The textbooks or other personal items going missing, including all the carefully woven quipus Sam would make during his lonely lunches. Being... _stared_ at too, while changing for gym. Everyone wanted to see the handprints on him, denoting his status as a repatriate. And when Sam would deny them the pleasure by changing in the toilets, they stripped him themselves, cruelly laughing at the scars he bore.

After _that_ particular incident, the number of hand outlines on Sam's body had increased, and Bridget had swiftly taken him out of school afterwards.

Lou gurgles in her tank, the light activating as she looks up at him, sucking on her thumb. Would she be popular in school when she got older, Sam wonders, or would she be quiet like him? Her laugh is so cute, her personality so bright, that Sam feels like Lou would be the complete opposite to him in many ways.

...If she grew up at all, that is.

On that thought, Sam hurriedly collects the orders he accepted and begins attaching them to his backpack. It's too depressing to think about, that his time with Lou is limited. Her recent operation has made the porter all the more aware that his partnership with her is coming to an end. Higgs had been right – no matter how much Sam loves the kid, she'll never be _his_.

Ah, fuck. There he is again – _Higgs_ , rudely making his way into the forefront of the courier's mind again. That has been happening a lot, lately. During the morning. While he showered. When he is in the middle of making deliveries, or while Sam tries to fall asleep, Higgs is there in his mind, smiling, but his eyes cold. Yet his hands are warm, and tongue even hotter – Sam hates how vivid the flashbacks are. It's not just images he sees, he can _feel_ them, _hear_ them, even smell the sweat and sex that lingers on the man.

The buckles of his bag snap loudly as Sam clicks them into place, the cargo on his back heavy but not _too_ bad. It's time to go, before he gets too caught up in the nightmare Higgs had subjected him to – even now, weeks later, Sam wakes up in a puddle of sweat, partly terrified at never knowing if the terrorist is going to be there or not to greet him... and partly something else that the porter doesn't want to acknowledge.

Sam checks over his equipment one last time, then begins his arduous trek to the Mountaineer – unfortunately with Higgs still lurking deep within the recesses of his mind.

• **×•×•**

It's been another week, and Sam still doesn't feel ready to cross the tar belt. He's been in the mountains for so long, he doesn't even need a map anymore, his extensive and painstakingly planned zipline network catapulting him to where he needs to be within minutes. He'd feel guilty for how much time he's wasted by setting it all up when there are more pressing things on hand – but hearing Lou giggle in delight as they zoom over the mountaintops and bypass any BTs with ease makes running around with a stack of PCCs worth it.

He's at Heartman's lab, now, laden with alcohol that the man requested. Sam comes here often – not because of the scientist, but for the bath on the veranda. The ziplines don't cover _everything_ , and walking through such deep snow, no matter how short the journey is, is still taxing on the legs and joints.

And honestly, sitting in hot, steamy water is the only time Sam feels truly clean.

Quickly, Sam dumps the cargo away at the terminal, not surprised that Heartman isn't there to greet him. He often wonders why – is he just busy? On the beach? Or too shy? – although that excuse seems rather unlikely, as he can't appear to shut up whenever they meet.

With his delivery sorted, the porter almost sprints back outside, rushing around the corner where the hot tub is – then pauses.

No wonder Heartman hadn't greeted him, because _he's_ in the bath, sat in the green water with his AED (it must be waterproof... somehow) on... and very little else. For a solid minute they're _both_ frozen in place, gawping at each other, awkwardness of the situation increasing the longer neither of them talk.

"Sam!" Heartman is thankfully the one to disperse the tension, adjusting his glasses as he breaks eye contact. The porter wonders how the man can see out of them, considering that they're fogged up from steam. "Welcome back."

Sam nods, shuffling on the spot as Heartman swims to the edge, shaking his wrist to bring up the terminal on his cuffs.

"Ah, yes – you made some more deliveries for me? Fantastic. Seems like the cargo is in perfect condition as well... really, Sam, you've outdone yourself again." Heartman closes the terminal and gives him a thumbs up, Sam's own terminal beeping as it receives the likes. "The amount you've helped me in my research of the Death Stranding, along with my personal needs, makes me wish I could do more to help _you_... unfortunately, I don't have a lot to give..."

Heartman taps his chin, thinking, then he claps his hands, causing Sam to jump a little.

"Aha! Wait there a moment, I'll be right back," Heartman says, climbing out of the pool (Sam looks away, not wanting to stare) and slips into a thick robe, pattering back into the house.

Doing what he was told, Sam stands on the spot, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while he eyes up the green water. He really wants to jump in, but it would be rude to impose on Heartman's personal bathing time – so he waits, fussing with the straps on his backpack while murmuring away to Lou, counting down the minutes until the other man comes back.

At around the seven minute mark, Heartman returns, clutching a bottle of whiskey Sam had just delivered along with two tumblers.

"Sorry for the delay – had to make a quick visit to the beach," the scientist apologises, setting the stuff in his hands down near the edge of the pool. "You waited by there? I wouldn't have minded if you jumped in – I've seen you use it before, so... wait, I'm not, uh, _watching_ you all the time, Sam, it's just the security measures in plac—"

Sam cuts him off with a grunt, silently taking the man up on his offer by beginning to strip, removing his attachments and peeling off his jumpsuit while Heartman... watches. It's only when the porter is about to take off his underwear that the other man's staring makes him uncomfortable, so Sam quirks an eyebrow at him. Heartman appears to get the message, and he coughs, turning away, his cheeks slightly pink – and hurriedly, the courier takes the chance to pull off his pants before entering the bath, Lou cradled in his arms.

"I – I didn't mean to stare quite so intently, my apologies," splutters Heartman, also disrobing and sliding in next to Sam, far too close for him to handle. "The body of a repatriate is just so... _interesting_. There's so much we don't know about your condition, given its rarity... the only two repatriates we know of currently are you, and, um—"

"Higgs," Sam finishes for him, keeping his gaze firmly on Lou's pod floating in the water.

The scientist doesn't say anything, and for a few short moments there's near-silence apart from water splashing. Then, Heartman sighs, reaching behind him to grab the glasses and whiskey, the thick crystal clinking as he brings them closer.

"Shall we have a drink?"

If he's going to be honest, Sam's not much of a drinker – a few cans of beer are enough to get him tipsy. But such fine, vintage whiskey doesn't come around often, and certainly not for free, so he nods, watching as the amber liquid swirls into the glass.

"So," Heartman begins, nudging a glass towards Sam, "how are you?"

"...Fine," the porter answers, picking up his drink and taking a sip. The alcohol burns as soon as it touches his tongue; he can't taste much through the heat, but he assumes it's good quality whiskey judging from Heartman's noises of appreciation when he takes his own mouthful.

"That's good to hear, considering what... happened." Heartman swirls the whiskey in the glass. "We were worried about you."

"'We'?"

"Me. Deadman – Lockne and Mama, too. All of us are simply flabbergasted at what happened. None of us ever thought that Higgs would do something like _that_ to you... Fragile is beside herself, she wanted to help you."

Sam realises that his time in the bath isn't going to be as relaxing as he thought it would be, with Heartman insisting that they have a conversation about a topic that the porter would really rather avoid. At the thought, he takes a big gulp of his drink, hoping that it'll dull the traumatic memories as they're dredged back up.

"Then why didn't she?" spits Sam, his grip on his glass tightening. He knows why she didn't help, why nobody did – but it's still upsetting to realise he'll always be a sacrifice for other people. It hurts even more that Fragile hasn't even bothered to see him since, although he himself has been avoiding her too. His brain wants one thing, and his heart wants another – the story of his life, really.

"Believe me Sam, the moment Die-Hardman told us what was happening, we _all_ wanted to rescue you – but there was too much at stake to lose. Mountain Knot is pivotal for the UCA and the Chiral Network – we've lost so many cities already... we're on the cusp of understanding the Death Stranding, the BTs, the beach, and to lose all the progress we've made would be devastating."

At the reply, Sam takes another sip of the whiskey, surprised to find just how little is left at the bottom of the glass. He's starting to feel warm inside, cheeks hot and his reservations melting – despite being on the brink of drunkenness, when Heartman goes to top up his drink, Sam doesn't refuse, nodding his thanks instead while watching Lou swim in circles. She's a good swimmer. Maybe she'll be an athlete when she grows up.

He could spend all day watching Lou, but there's something he needs to ask. There's something he needs to know, for certain, although the porter is highly aware he knows the answer to it already.

"Were you watching?" Sam asks. Another sip of his drink, for courage.

There is a very long lull in the conversation at the question, and Sam thinks that Heartman isn't going to answer him at all.

"...Yes," he answers, finally, and at that response, Sam takes half a dozen sips in muted anguish. "If the situation escalated... or if Higgs let slip something useful about how he uses the beach, or controls BT, then we needed to be watching."

Suddenly there's a huge splash as Lou dives under the water, then pops back up, pod bouncing on the small waves – if Heartman wasn't here, Sam would probably be cooing at her. But his bond with Lou feels too personal to share with others; she's the only one allowed to see him at his weakest, at his most unguarded. Even inebriated, Sam's walls are solid and tall, not so easily climbed over.

"I'm sorry."

Sam looks at the scientist, wondering what he's apologising for.

"I shouldn't have called you while you were showering. I forced you into an awkward situation... and probably humiliated you unintentionally. It was none of my business."

There were a lot of humiliating things about that day, but being called by Heartman wasn't really one of them. Truth be told, Sam hadn't really thought too much about it. Heartman's nosiness and lack of tact is something the porter has grown accustomed to.

"Sometimes I think that if I had known what had been occurring at the time, I could've helped you, and stopped Higgs before things went too far... but that's a mere delusion. The moment that man set his eyes on you Sam, he was hell-bent on getting what he wanted, damn everything else."

If the other man is trying to cheer him up, he's doing a piss-poor job at it. Sam doesn't need to be reminded that Higgs is a creepy, obsessive _stalker_ that has him _and_ everybody fucking else in the country in the palm of his dirty hands. And the bastard knows it, he exploits it, feeding on the fear of thousands of civilians who live each day thinking it might be their last. Sam can't allow Higgs to continue his reign of terror, his nature of helping others and conscience urging him to do the right thing. Still – as much as he's ashamed to admit it – he's _scared_ of seeing the terrorist again. Scared that Higgs will attack him again, hurt him, but even worse – make him feel _good_.

"I'm afraid," Sam blurts out, drinking more whiskey after his admission. He's straight-up drunk; any other time, he'd never admit such a thing.

"Of Higgs?"

Reluctantly, the courier nods, eyes glued to the ripples of the water.

"Sam..." Heartman reaches out to touch his shoulder, but he shrugs him off, very suddenly aware that he's naked. With another man, also naked. In the middle of nowhere. Something is making its way to the front of his mind, slowly, until Sam can hear it – hear _him_ – clearly:

_You're so fuckin' pure._

No, no he isn't. Not anymore. He's dirty. Filthy.

_It makes me sick._

"Sam? You're shaking." Heartman sounds so far away, but he's so close, gently prying the glass from out of his clenched hand. Sam allows him to touch him this time – only because his tremors are so bad, he's worried that he'll drop the glass into the pool.

"I – I... see him. Hear him. _Feel_ him," mumbles Sam, unsure why he's even telling the scientist this. It isn't like Heartman can help him. "Every night. I replay it in my head over and over and I want it to _stop_ —"

_You think you can keep that innocence forever?_

"Sam, look at me—"

_You're irresistible._

Was breathing always so difficult?

"I've let everyone down," Sam continues to ramble, the alcohol making his tongue loose. The words coming out of his mouth are even more painful to hear out loud, so he claps his hands over his ears, nails biting into the skin and pulling on his damp hair. "I've let Amelie down. Bridget. Die-Hardman. Everyone. I'm weak, I put everyone as risk—"

"—Sam!" Heartman grabs at his hands, pulling them off his ears, and the porter _really_ looks at him. Tall, slim. Pale. Heartman's expression shows concern, yet to Sam's eyes it twists into disappointment. Judging him. "You haven't let anyone down, you've done so much. For me. For Bridges, and for the UCA, you're _not_ weak—"

The wrist on his skin is burning.

Wriggling out of Heartman's grasp, Sam turns his back to him, snatching up Lou's pod and clutching it to his chest. She gurgles, inquisitively and concerned, and at the sound Sam breaks, face crumpling as two big fat tears roll down his cheeks. Someone as dirty and as sinful as him doesn't deserve her sympathy.

"It felt good," Sam admits in barely a whisper, tears dripping onto the pod. " _I_ felt good."

Another break in the conversation as Heartman doesn't respond. Sam can hear him though, breathing, and a second later he sighs heavily.

"A physical reaction during rape isn't uncommon. It doesn't make you weak – Higgs knew how to hurt you the most in a way that didn't inflict pain," Heartman says, and Sam wipes his eyes with the back of his hand before turning to look at the scientist again, hoping that he hadn't realised. "...I'm not a therapist, Sam. I'm not trained in the matters of the mind, nor can I really put things right... but I'm willing to listen, as a friend."

Sam doesn't know how to reply. For all his awkwardness, Heartman seems totally sincere, and that makes the porter feel bad for assuming he was just a busybody – guilty, Sam manages a weak nod, and Heartman smiles, raising his arms like he was going for a hug, then stops himself.

"Great!" the man gives him another two thumbs up instead, a free forty likes added to Sam's collective total. "I think we should head inside – I'm sure the beach is calling for me soon. Then we can finish off the whiskey... over a movie, maybe?"

He really shouldn't, but Sam realises that he's in no state to actually continue work for the day. So he shrugs, which Heartman takes as a yes.

"Perfect. Let me get you a spare robe, I think there's one in the house." Heartman gets out of the bath, not hiding his body in the slightest. Sam peeks at his figure, noting that it's completely different to his... and Higgs'. Paler. Slimmer, with not much muscle definition; his cock looks more like Higgs', however—

Heartman coughs, and Sam startles, wondering _what_ the _fuck_ he was just doing.

"Er—" the other man is completely red, adjusting his glasses in embarrassment. "I'll... be back in a minute."

Quickly, he disappears, and Sam wants to dive under the water and not reappear, ever. Oh, God. He's so humiliated he could die. One second he's crying over Higgs' assault, the next he's eyeing up another man's dick. What the hell is wrong with him? It wouldn't surprise him if Heartman had ran inside and locked the door behind him, creeped out by his staring.

Groaning, Sam bonks his head against the glass of the pod, Lou giggling at him as he does so. What was he expecting? Heartman wouldn't try anything with him – he's just as broken as he is, losing his own family. Sex is probably the last thing on his mind. Not everyone is as perverse as Higgs.

And that is the last time Sam thinks of the terrorist for the day, when Heartman thankfully comes back with a robe, a stupid amount of alcohol, music and movies distracting him mercifully from the horrors that await him from just around the corner.

• **×•×•**

He isn't stalling anymore.

Sure, Sam _technically_ hasn't passed the tar belt yet, but he's wrapping things up now, finishing all of his outstanding orders and delivering preppers and cities with as many emergency supplies as he can before moving on, because he isn't sure when – or if – he'll be back. Talking to Heartman had released some of the unease he had felt; yet there's one thing still troubling him.

Fragile.

There's a slew of unfinished business to do back in Capital Knot, along with the preppers and waystations there – but Sam needs her beach to get back east.

As he sits in the safe house of Lake Knot, Sam fidgets on the bed, picks the skin around his nails, and cleans his glasses, eyes locked on the umbrella in the corner the whole time. Fuck. He should just get it over with; the longer he waits, the longer Amelie does too.

"Fragile," he calls out, "I need to get to Capital Knot."

Nothing happens for a bit – she's taking more time than usual to appear. Maybe she hadn't heard him.

"Fragi—"

A loud crackle, then she appears, picking up the umbrella as she walks on over to him.

"I heard you the first time, Sam," Fragile says, her accent thicker than usual. Her face says it all; she's not smiling, lips pursed into a line while her eyebrows knit together. Sam can sense the concern radiating off her – but also anger. He wonders who _that's_ aimed for. Probably him, he thinks, as the woman strolls around the room, placing the umbrella on the table while avoiding his gaze.

It's a while before she talks again.

"It's good to finally see you."

The little dig at him doesn't go unnoticed.

"It's good to finally see _you_ ," retaliates Sam, knowing he's being petty. It isn't her fault. Giving him space is the best thing she could have done.

"I wanted to come sooner, Sam, I really did, but..." Fragile sighs, picking up the container of Cryptobiotes and sitting down next to the porter on the bed, who, on instinct, moves as far away as possible. "I'm... at a loss for words. I never thought Higgs would be capable of doing something so cruel."

"Why? He blows up cities on the regular. He made _you_ walk through timefall naked, too." Sam reminds her, not looking in her direction. "He's a perverted freak."

"And I still struggle to connect the Higgs of today to the Higgs that worked with me before. _That_ Higgs wouldn't have hurt anyone. He was quiet, but hardworking... kind of like you."

Being compared to the terrorist, and his assaulter, makes Sam's nose crinkle in disgust. Hearing her wax lyrical about Higgs is nauseating; especially with the implications the man had made about their relationship. Sam wants to ask, but doesn't want to dredge up the past either. It really isn't his place to.

"Don't take it the wrong way. Higgs was a good man... once. But he got corrupted. I don't want him to corrupt you too—"

"Huh?" Sam jumps in, not liking what she's implying. Although he might not be the brightest bulb in the box, Higgs' oily words will never sway him from the path of helping others.

"People like Higgs don't do things without a purpose. He's trying to get into your head; please don't let him, Sam," Fragile pleads, her fingers tapping against the glass Cryptobiote jar. "I know you're strong. You're probably the strongest man I know other than my father – but you're vulnerable. I'm... worried, that you might go to a dark place and not come back out the other side."

"...I'm fine," lies Sam. He's anything _but_ fine, still haunted by the phantom image of Higgs most nights; but he has the confidence that he can go on. He's so very close to the end, and what he doesn't need right now is Fragile stalling him.

"Are you? What are you going to do, when Higgs shows up when you go to Edge Knot? Higgs isn't just going to let you waltz in there and take Amelie back without some resistance," Fragile speaks rapidly, moving closer into Sam's personal space. "Out there, alone – will you be okay? You'll be going straight into the lion's den without anyone to help y—"

"Fragile," Sam interrupts, swallowing down the bile that had risen in his throat. "Shut up – please."

She seems taken aback by his curtness, but luckily, Fragile _does_ shut up, staring into her lap. Although her silence doesn't last for long, for a second later, she says: "I'm sorry. Scaring you isn't helping. I just... don't want you to get hurt again. Especially by a man that sometimes, I think I could've saved. If I had just seen the signs – seen that he was slipping away from doing the right thing – maybe none of this would have happened..."

"Higgs was doomed from the start," grunts Sam, remembering everything the terrorist had implied about his past. "Some things are just too broken to be salvaged."

"Are you?"

The question makes Sam think for a long time, unable to find an answer. 'No' buds on his lips, but he's hesitating; the death of his unborn child is still too raw, even ten years later, and he's barely holding it together even now.

But then he spots Lou, doing somersaults in her pod, and finally finds he has it in him to answer.

"No."

Fragile smiles at him, wide and toothily.

"I was afraid you were going to say yes."

"There's still time."

The woman hums, popping off the lid to the Cryptobiotes and reaching in for one of the strange creatures. She holds it out for him, but Sam shakes his head.

"Not hungry."

"Neither am I," says Fragile, yet she pops the Cryptobiote in her mouth anyway, chewing loudly. It always disturbs Sam by just how much she appears to relish them. She swallows it, then grabs another, cramming it into her mouth as she closes the tub again with one lone Cryptobiote left inside, before standing up and putting it back onto the table.

With her hand hovering over the umbrella, Fragile looks at him.

"Are you ready?"

Wordlessly, Sam nods, and joins her side, closing his eyes, visualising Capital Knot with all his might.

"...Before you go, I have to say, Sam – those glasses look good on you."

He snorts, then vanishes, leaving behind only a fine gold dust.

• **×•×•**

If his zipline network in the mountains was impressive, then Sam's ziplines covering the eastern region is a work of art; he doesn't even have to walk anywhere in the region, being able to zip from one place to the next without stopping. It's extremely satisfying to zoom past BTs so fast that they are unable to grab him – but what's even more satisfying is that he can get to the Ludens Fan's shelter much more easily. He spends far too much time there – yet every time he delivers something to him, Sam just _has_ to check out his figurines.

Although after today, it might be the last time Sam sees him. At least for a while. He has nothing left to do here apart from the delivery he currently has for the fan – all buildings are ranked to five, and everyone has rations, medicines, and materials that should last a while, until he can come back... or until someone else can take over. Sam can't explain it, but he has an impending sense of doom – one that isn't related to his, well, DOOMS. What awaits for him past the tar belt is unknown and frightening – he _should_ be excited to see Amelie again, but something feels... off. Sam pushes his paranoid thoughts from out of his mind as he loads up the cargo onto the rack for the Ludens Fan. He's just anxious to see her, that's all.

The shelves disappear when the porter is finished, and moments later, a hologram appears of the fan, who appears to be checking over the condition of the cargo.

"Holy shit, Sam – I've never seen some of these figures before. You always come through with the goods," the man gushes. "Do you want to come check them out?"

Enthusiastically Sam nods, the lock on the shelter door hissing open as he makes his way to it. He starts to strip on the way down the stairs, unplugging Lou and removing his boots, leaving himself only in his vest and black pants. He leaves his stuff by the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to track dirt and Chiral matter into the man's home. It's only polite.

As he enters the main living area, Sam spots the fan sat on the floor, surrounded by cargo containers, and holding a figure to the light, inspecting it closely.

"This is a beauty," he marvels, "this is from twenty-nineteen, a rare promotional piece – only a few were ever produced. At the time they went for thousands of dollars... and now I have one, for _free_."

He holds it out for Sam to take, who places Lou on the couch and takes the figure gently, whistling low at the amount of painstaking details. As much as Sam is fond of his own figurines in his room, they're clearly printed, and not a patch on these lovingly hand-crafted pieces. Despite finding the thing near a MULE camp, it's in pristine condition – not even a single scratch.

"And this one? _This_ one was unreleased, due to a voidout. Never thought I'd get my hands on one... oh, is that one limited edition gold Ludens?! That's incredible, only five thousand were made..."

The man continues to talk at length, and Sam listens intently, the information useless yet interesting all the same. This is what he likes about the Ludens Fan – most of the conversations revolve around figurines, and not bothersome personal issues or prying questions. It's a distraction, too; an hour goes by before Sam remembers that this might be the last time he sees the man.

"...this is a first edition Ludens. Most of them were recalled because of a colouring error – see the face? Personally I think it looks cooler..." the fan stops talking, watching Sam line all the figurines on the floor by size. "These are fantastic, Sam... but why did you bring me so much? Finding these must have taken you forever."

Sam places the last figurine down before saying: "I might not be back for a while."

"...Oh," the fan frowns. "Are you going west?"

A little surprised that the man knows he was intending to head west, Sam nods. Although he shouldn't be – with the UCA, nothing is a secret anymore.

"...That's a shame. I understand why you're going, but... you're my only visitor. Never had to break out the spare cot until you came along," the man sounds so forlorn that Sam is half-tempted to comfort him, but the idea alone has his aphenphosmphobia on edge. "I hope you come back. Not just to deliver me stuff, either – but I won't say no if you do."

The rest of the evening goes by relatively normal, the subject of going west not brought up again. The fan shows him some rare comics he found in storage, then they break out some board games (Sam loses, horribly), finishing up with a round of video games (Sam wins... a couple of times).

It's getting late when Sam takes up the offer to shower, not really dirty but having worked up a sweat punching MULEs. The other man takes his clothes to be washed, and Sam doesn't mind – it's not uncommon. He'll just put a towel around his waist until they're ready and dry. It always astounds him how accommodating preppers are; having dawdled for so long, nearly everyone – apart from the oddball Peter Englert – let's him rest at their homes. They all have interesting things to share; Sam only wishes he could hang out with the Mountaineer more. Being around the man's newborn child is just too much to bear though, even if it _is_ named after him; a part of Sam is happy that he helped out, yet an uglier side of him wonders why nobody ever helped _him_ , and his unborn child.

With his hair dripping and body damp, Sam steps out of the bathroom, tightening the knot of the towel and determined to stop thinking so negatively, at least for the remainder of the evening; he just wants one more night to unwind, free of the demons that haunt him.

The Ludens Fan is in the corner of the room, stacking his new figurines onto some shelves. Sam just watches at first, because the man seems to have a particular way of displaying them, only coming to the other's aid when he appears to struggle reaching the topmost shelf with a larger, heavier figure.

"Here," Sam says, taking the figurine from the man's hands. He isn't _that_ much taller, but he'll try his best anyway. "Tell me where to put it."

"Oh – um," the fan looks a little startled by the porter's sudden appearance, stepping backwards to get out of the way. "Er – to the left, maybe?"

"Here?"

"Forward a bit—no, wait it's obscuring the fourth generation mini-Ludens, can you put it in the centre—?"

Sam grunts at his pickiness, but complies, using both hands to gently slide it along, stretching up to reach the shelf—

—Then he feels it, the towel around his waist beginning to slip as the knot, which he had thought he had fastened with care, begins to undo, his ass in danger of being in full view.

"Woah," the fan says, and Sam feels hands on his hips, holding the towel in place. "That was close—"

Hands. On him. On his _skin_. The man is so close behind the porter that his warmth radiates through Sam, who starts to tremble on the spot as he breaks out into a cold sweat.

_...An isolated shelter, deep underground, and locked from the inside..._

No, not now. Why now? He needs to move, but he can't, the other's breath on the back of his neck freezing him on the spot.

And then, with horror, Sam feels something hard poking against his backside. Why is the man hard? Never had he shown any attraction, or made advances, towards him before – or had Sam been too naïve to see them? Maybe Higgs was right—

_...is the perfect place to be pinned down and used._

"N-no," Sam stutters, his flesh on fire. "Don't."

"Sorry— it's been so long that I—" the fan sounds... desperate, his breathing ragged and palms slick with sweat. "I—p-please, just a l-little—?"

He sounds kinda pathetic. So pathetic that Sam's fears ebb away, realising that this man... isn't a danger at all. He's weaker. Smaller. Sam could fight him off right now and leave, with no consequences bar the awkwardness – he isn't Higgs. For once... Sam's been given a _choice_ , and that makes him feel oddly in control.

Despite his phobia yelling at him to run, Sam nods, and rolls his hips backwards – and the action is like a dam opening, the Ludens Fan wrapping his arms around Sam's middle and burying his face in the back of the courier's neck as he ruts against him, the towel falling to the floor, forgotten.

Letting go of the figurine, Sam grabs the shelf instead, keeping himself in place as the other man grinds against the crack of his ass intensely, hands gliding up Sam's abdomen to grope at his pecs. It doesn't really arouse the porter all that much – with how eager the fan is, it's borderline painful because of how hard the muscles are being squeezed, yet Sam keeps silent, allowing the other to enjoy himself.

With a whine, the touching stops, hands no longer on Sam's body. For a moment, he wonders if the fan has come to his senses – but then he hears it, the rustling of cloth and a zipper being undone.

Oh. _Oh_. The sound makes Sam's stomach knot, not sure if he's anxious or excited. Perhaps he's both; although hearing the man spit into his palm has Sam's heart pounding, and he shuts his eyes, expecting to feel pressure against his anus—

But it doesn't come. Not against his asshole, anyway – but _between his legs_ , between his thighs, hands on his legs pushing them closer together as a spit-slick cock slides between them, bumping against Sam's taint with each thrust.

"Ah—" the man groans, nails scratching into the firm muscles. "F-fuck—never thought you'd let me d-do this—"

Sam never thought he'd let someone fuck between his thighs either, yet here he is, pressing his legs tighter together and shivering when a wet mouth begins to suck at the back of his neck, hoping that the fan won't leave a mark—

"Shit, I'm close—"

_Already_? But...

"...Aren't you going to fuck me?" Sam asks, then gasps aloud when the other man bites down, whimpering as a wet, hot, sticky substance shoots between his thighs and drips onto the floor.

Somewhat shocked, Sam barely processes that the other is fondling his limp penis, but when he does, he pushes the hands away, shaking his head.

"I'm good," he says, turning around. The fan is red and looking incredibly sheepish, hastily picking up the towel to wipe away the remnants of cum on his dick. "...Are you done?"

"Sorry," the man passes Sam the towel, and tucks himself away. "I don't think I can... uh, manage to go again soon—but, um, I can suck you off—?"

Shaking his head again, Sam cleans off the cum on his legs, the blue light of his cuffs making the streaks more visible in the dimness of the shelter. He wonders if they recorded indoors – it would be unethical, but so was spying on someone showering... and Die-Hardman did it anyway.

Whatever. He can't really give a fuck anymore – whatever the director's deal is, then it's his problem, not his. He's not trekking across the country for _him_ , anyhow. Amelie is the priority – and the sooner she was back where she belonged, the sooner Sam could forget the enigmatic man.

"...Sorry," the fan apologises for a second time. "I—I got a bit carried away... been a looong time since I've slept with anyone, y'know... haha..."

Sam decides not to tell him that it hasn't been that long ago for him. And that he had been fully prepared, fully willing, and fully expecting for the other man to penetrate him – _he had wanted him to_.

He wants it. Despite... _everything_.

The thought lingers for the whole night. Even when he tries to fall asleep, he can't; he feels strange. Keyed up, wanting... _something_. Something that makes him squirm in the cot, which makes Lou wake up in his arms.

"Uuu...?"

"Shh," Sam whispers, not wanting to wake the fan, who's snoring softly. "Go back to sleep, Lou."

Shit. He needs to pull himself together. For her. For Amelie. For America.

And most of all – for his own sanity.

• **×•×•**

The tar belt in front of him stretches for miles and miles, seemingly impassable. Die-Hardman had been incredibly unhelpful in suggesting ways to get across – so Sam has to use his own wits to puzzle it out. Thinking so hard at least makes it difficult to remember the previous night, _and_ the spam of heart emojis the Luden's fan had sent him in an email the moment he had left the shelter.

Back at the task at hand - there's not many options. The only thing around is a mass of BTs near the tar's edge. Getting caught seems like an idea; not a very pleasant one... but it's not like there's anything else around to help him cross.

"Hold on tight," he sighs, patting Lou's pod – then charges right into the ghostly horde.

He had expected something to happen.

Yet even he is surprised to see a huge fucking whale spring forth from the black ocean, chasing him the moment he gets up and starts to run.

After so many weeks of feeling zombie-like, trapped within his body and his mind, Sam for the first time in ages, feels _alive_ , pushing his body to the limit as he jumps over gaps and skids across rooftops, the large BT whale accompanying him the whole way. Lou is crying – yet Sam is loving it.

The fun comes to an abrupt stop. In the distance, a figure, dressed in vivid red, looms on the horizon.

_Amelie_.

He calls out to her, reaches out for her – but she turns his back on him, and the murky depths gets deeper and deeper until he slips under and tar begins to pool into his lungs—

_Amelie, Amelie, Amelie._

There's sand on his skin.

He's naked. And dry. Clean—

The beach. The sea.

Did he die?

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down—"

Amelie. She's beside him, singing. But she's ignoring him.

"—London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady."

She turns. She smiles, then continues to walk towards the ocean. He follows – he's so close to her. Yet she's so far away, too far away—

He slips again, and the waters take him.

_Amelie, Amelie—_

...

He regains consciousness.

Clothed. Wet. Dirty—

The land of the living.

Sam stands, yet doubles over immediately, vomiting up tar and Cryptobiotes. He barely hears the crack of someone teleporting behind him; although soon enough he sees the golden reflection in the pool of tar, and his heart sinks immediately.

"Higgs!"

It's a shock that Sam doesn't throw up for a second time, by how many turns his stomach does at the sight of the terrorist.

"Shh, keep your voice down. You don't want to scare the poor girl away, do you?"

Higgs steps towards him.

"She's in there," he sniffs the air. "I can smell her."

Sam can't look at him as he gets up. Any control he had felt, any confidence that he had regained, is seeping out of every pore of his body rapidly.

"Of course, I wouldn't have known for sure if it wasn't for _you_... and your wonderful network."

The praise, said in Higgs guttural tones, makes the porter's skin crawl.

Higgs cackles quietly; "bless your heart."

There's a sudden noise, and Sam whips around, seeing only the golden skull mask floating in the air.

Another noise, behind him.

"And thank you kindly."

No. The bastard has only been in his presence for five seconds and he's already screwing with his mind – enraged, Sam leaps at him, ready to unleash all the resentment he feels for _everything_ the man has done to him.

Predictably, like the coward he is, Higgs vanishes before Sam's fist can connect, and he falls to the floor.

It's not the floor. It's a puddle of tar – a puddle of BTs. They latch onto him, pinning him to the ground – Sam struggles desperately while his Odradek spins wildly.

No, no, no, no, _no_.

He can't move. He's stuck, they won't let go.

They _need_ to let go, he's _scared_. Vulnerable.

"Oh... Sam Bridges..." the terrorist kneels beside him. "Careful, the contents are... fragile. Like the world, and everything in it."

Higgs speaks like Sam hasn't already been broken. There's no need to be careful with something – or somebody – damaged beforehand.

"Me, I'm... I'm no exception."

His voice gets low, yet louder too, because – because—

The fucking freak leans in and _licks his face._

In disbelief, Sam stops struggling, feeling grimier than he did to begin with. Higgs' tongue is wet, and warm, lapping up the tar from his cheek to his temple.

Oh, fuck – what is he going to do _next_? Sam can't move. He can't run. He's – he's in the best position, if Higgs wants to abuse him again. Sam's expecting it – expecting the terrorist to touch him, hurt him, _fuck_ him as he's being held down by BTs, despite being drenched in tar and sweat. Higgs clearly has no standards; _this_ isn't about attraction, the other just wants to destroy him.

Surprisingly, Higgs moves away, then teleports, appearing in front of Sam while the skull mask floats to his side.

"I'm not the only one wearing masks either. There's your boss man, that woman—" Higgs grabs the mask, "—and... oh, let's not forget little ol' you."

Then the mask is on Sam's face, crackling and burning his skin – it hurts, it _hurts_ , and the porter writhes as he's lifted off his feet, held up only by the terrorist as his feet dangle in mid-air.

"It's okay. It's okay," the man reassures. "I know it ain't easy wearing a mask all the time."

Sam's too choked up to scream. The mask is hurting him, but he can't really explain _how_. It just _hurts_. And at the sound of his pained whimpers, Higgs is grinning, _delighted_ at the torture he's putting him through.

"But now the mask can come off, right?"

As the mask is yanked off his face, Sam crumples to the floor, spluttering and gasping while tears streak down his face. The crazy bastard and his theatrics; Sam doesn't feel any different, but he's not exactly sure what the mask had done to him other than inflict pain. He doesn't get the time to figure it out, because, of course, Higgs isn't done with his spiel of lunacy.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey. You remember this?" the terrorist holds out Amelie's quipu. "Hm?"

Of course Sam remembers it. He distinctly remembers gifting it to Amelie, after spending hours picking out something that would look good on her – and he also remembers it glittering under fluorescent lights, bouncing away on Higgs' chest, as the other man had _raped_ him.

Temper rising, Sam lunges at the necklace, to get it away from the other man's dirty, tainted hands – but the BTs hold him fast before he can reach it.

"Nope, nope, nope," Higgs... _sniffs_ the necklace, then the air. "Mmm... poor, sweet Amelie. She's holed up on a beach nearby—" the separatist bumps his arm, "—tell you what. What do you say we make it a race, hm? Whoever wins gets to usher in the end of days."

Sam really wishes that Higgs would stop smiling at him. It's freaking him out more than the BTs at his feet. Thankfully he steps from the porter's personal space, turning his back to him so Sam no longer has to see that creepy, sinister smirk.

"Nothing like the eve of extinction to bring focus to the mind. Makes folks honest," there's actually a pause when Higgs shuts up, although it doesn't last long. "There'll be no need for masks soon."

He's made it back on his feet, but Sam nearly topples over again in surprise when Higgs teleports in front of him again, whispering: "But, I wonder – when you look death in her eye—" Higgs swipes a gloved thumb across the porter's cheekbone, tears and tar collected on the tip. "—Will you blink?"

As dramatic as ever, the terrorist draws an inky tear track on his own face, then backs away, slowly, laughing menacing before he teleports away.

He doesn't come back.

Sam is... confused, but safe. Higgs... hadn't done anything to him. It should have been a relief, yet all Sam feels is bewildered. The other man had acted like he _hadn't_ done anything to him at all, that he hadn't degraded the porter beyond belief and messed him up mentally for weeks – the thought that Higgs cared very little about his actions makes Sam seethe with internal rage, wanting nothing more than to strangle Higgs with his bare hands, aphenphosmphobia be damned.

The cuffs jingle, the tune Die-Hardman's.

"Still with me, Sam?"

Yes.

But barely, a haze of red blocking him from thinking clearly.

Higgs. _Higgs_.

_Fuck_ Higgs, Sam repeats mentally, over and over, as he heads towards the distribution centre.

• **×•×•**

Sam's mind is a clusterfuck of what is real and what _isn't_ real anymore. Amelie appearing in his room and dumping the awful truth that she _could_ destroy everything, and that what Higgs had been alluding to the whole time was the truth, has the porter's rage simmering away as despair sets in.

All of his work to save her... for what purpose? So she could wipe everyone out? Sam hopes it isn't true, that it's just Higgs messing with him or a manifestation of his own doubts, but it isn't likely. Her face, her voice, seemed clear.

She's an extinction entity. His sister, the one person he ever trusted beyond a shadow of a doubt – is humanity's ticket to disaster.

He showers, wiping away grime and tar, preoccupied with his thoughts. He's still going to find Amelie. He needs the truth, and there's still one last Knot to go before America is whole again.

As he's getting dressed, there's a voice over the speaker system. He's expecting it to be Die-Hardman, maybe Heartman – but he's wrong on both accounts.

It's Deadman.

"Hey there, Sam."

Sam nods in greeting, knowing that the man is probably watching him – if he hasn't already projected his hologram into the room.

Pulling on his vest, Sam notices that, yup, Deadman is with him already, fussing over Lou who stares back at him, curious.

"Nice to see you in one piece – that was one heck of a journey, wasn't it?" Deadman taps the glass of Lou's pod with a holographic knuckle that phases straight through it. "Your vitals were through the roof; adrenaline sure has an interesting effect on the body..."

"...Are you always checking my vitals?" what would even be the point? He's a repatriate – death has no consequence, so watching them seems like a waste.

Deadman sighs, and stops playing with Lou.

"Die-Hardman asked me to keep a close eye on them since... well, you know—" the doctor's jaunty attitude shifts into something more sombre. "He said to report to him if there was ever anything, er, weird about them."

With how Deadman won't look at him in the eyes, Sam _knows_ that he's hiding something from him.

"Weird, how?"

"Oh, um—just extreme changes in things like heart rate, blood pressure, hormone levels – we can tell when you're tired, scared, aroused—"

"That's..." Sam is disturbed – Bridges probably knows more about him, than he knows about _himself_ , via the wonders of technology.

"Impressive? Yes. Yet also invasive – I questioned the ethics of this, Sam, but Die-Hardman convinced me that it was for _your_ sake..."

"How?"

"I don't know. More and more I'm coming to realise that I the truly don't understand what the director is thinking – or what his intentions are... he even had your urine tested a while ago—"

"He did _what_?" When? How? Who? _Why_?

"Uh, shoot," despite being a hologram, Sam can see Deadman turn red as he begins to become flustered. "Ignore that."

" _Deadman_ ," says Sam, feeling sick with anger at the thought of Die-Hardman unabashedly invading his privacy. Monitoring his emotions, performing tests that he wasn't even aware of – is it just another way for the enigmatic man to control him? Does he think that the promise to see his sister isn't enough to do his bidding – or more like, _Bridget's_ bidding, because all Die-Hardman has ever seemed to live for is _her_.

"...You're getting angry, please don't – Heartman didn't want to do it, but—"

_Heartman_? When did he have the chance—?

It starts clicking into place. Heartman had made him drink, and drink when he went to his place. Sam could barely remember anything of that day; and that was probably the intention. The scientist hadn't been a friend. He had just been another of the director's puppets, pulled by invisible strings meant to deceive him.

The betrayal hurts. Sam had trusted him, had cried in front of him – shown a weaker side that he rarely let anyone see. And all it had resulted in was having his bodily fluids taken, for a reason that Sam can't comprehend.

"...Why..." the porter fists are clenched, and shaking; he's sure he doesn't want the answer, but he's asking anyway.

Deadman _still_ isn't looking at him.

"...Die-Hardman thinks you can never be too careful. So... he made Heartman look for the hormone hCG in your urine – hCG meaning 'human chorionic gonadotropin', if you're wondering..."

Sam doesn't know enough about medical terms to know what any of that means, but it becomes absolutely clear when Deadman clarifies for him.

"hCG is a hormone produced when an embryo attaches itself to the uterus... I'm sure you don't need me to explain further, do you?"

_I'm going to breed you, Sam._

No, he can't be. Men can't get _pregnant_. It defies logic, and biology; why was Die-Hardman putting him through this? To humiliate him further? As punishment, for feeling _good_ during it?

"Higgs has powers we've never seen before. I'm sure Die-Hardman just wanted to make absolutely sure that Higgs... didn't stay true to his word, and—"

_Shoot in ya', over and over, until your stomach swells._

No. It's a sick joke.

A joke that Sam is perturbed to realise that it might not be one after all. He touches his stomach. It's flat, but... there _could_ be something in there.

What if—?

"Look on the bright side, Sam – at least the results came back negative."

Oh.

Something in him sinks.

_Gotta make sure I impregnate you before I leave_.

The fucking liar.

"Out," Sam mumbles, clutching his stomach. There's nothing there. Of course there wouldn't be.

But he had hoped all the same.

"Sam—?"

"I said – _GET OUT_!" he picks up the trash can near his bed, and throws it at Deadman. It goes straight through him, but it has the intended effect regardless, for the hologram vanishes, leaving the porter alone with his rage.

Sam doesn't stop at the trashcan. He knocks everything off the table causing cans and Cryptobiotes to fly everywhere, then moves to tearing apart the cushions on the bed, ripping out the padding and chucking it wherever. He doesn't care where – he's angry, he's hurt, and confused; with what everything Amelie has told him, _everything_ feels so pointless. Even his assault. All he had been left with was the memories, and nothing else.

The room is a mess when he's finished, everything he could get his hands had been thrown or torn. The glass panes and mirror remain intact, reinforced that even his strength can't smash them. Sam can't remember the last time he was so furious – a passive guy usually, he's never had it in him to throw a tantrum. But he's been pushed too far.

Everyone has their limits.

Slumped over the bed, Sam's cheeks feel wet. His anger is subsiding, replaced by a tired apathy. The past ten years of his life had felt so dark and lonely – yet the previous few months had been like waking up from a very long nightmare. His life had a purpose. He wasn't alone, anymore.

Yet what had it resulted in? Being raped by a complete psycho, and constantly observed like a rat in a maze. In the eyes of Bridges, he's not even human. He's a repatriate first, Sam Bridges second. Even his assault had just been more data for them to collect.

Nobody has bothered him since Deadman had gone, and he's been left to sit in silence surrounded by the wreckage he had caused. Time is moving, yet Sam can't budge an inch, staring at the blue surface of the bed for a very long time.

He dozes off. Not deeply, but just enough that his grasp on reality slips.

_Oh, Sam_.

That's Higgs' voice. It's too distinct not to be.

_I_ want _Bridges to see us making love._

It hadn't been lovemaking. Sam never wanted it. He never wants Higgs to touch him again—

But his body gets so hot. Remembering Higgs' touches, his tongue, and his _cock_ , affects Sam in all the ways it shouldn't. Higgs had given him a taste of something truly otherworldly; and the porter's body can't help but crave it more, like a drug.

Sam jolts, rousing from sleep. He's sweating; but that's not all.

He's _hard_.

Damn it.

He waits, and waits, yet it doesn't go away. It actually feels like it gets worse, until he's fully pitching a tent in his pants – realising that it isn't going to go down, Sam stands up, and grabs a thin blanket that somehow hadn't been torn during his freak-out. Carefully, he tip-toes over the carnage in the room until he gets to Lou, who's sleeping quietly in her pod. She probably won't wake up, but he's not taking any chances, having already put her through his meltdown earlier. Brave kid; she hadn't even cried.

Guilt settles in his stomach as Sam drapes the blanket over her pod, then turns out the lights for good measure. It's harder to make his way to the bed in the dark, but for once, he wants privacy for what he's about to do. It wouldn't really be unexpected for the cameras to have night-vision, though. It would be weirder if they _didn't_.

Sitting on the bed, the courier pulls off his pants, then his underwear. He's nauseous, hands clumsy; parting his legs, Sam spits in his hand, lacking proper lubrication, and grabs his erection, jerking himself off almost mechanically.

It feels... okay?

Another stroke, then two – it doesn't feel okay anymore. It isn't enough.

Revolted by his lewdness, Sam masturbates harder, desperately.

It isn't going to work. He feels too empty. Too cold.

Sam shifts until he's kneeling on the bed, then sticks two fingers in his mouth, making them slippery with his saliva before removing the appendages.

Can he really do this?

Awkwardly, Sam reaches behind him, poking at his own twitching hole. He's so much more sensitive there; just rubbing around the rim has the porter let out a surprisingly loud groan – when he manages to slip in the first finger, his cock twitches, the muscles in his inner thighs quivering as he works up the digit to the second knuckle.

The back of his nail scratches against his prostate, and Sam nearly dies out of shock as he lets out a choked cry, slapping the hand that had been working his cock to his mouth instead, containing his noises. Too much stimulation – too much at once, but he does it again anyway, biting into his knuckles when he lets out another moan. Fuck, _fuck_. He's missing his prostate more often than not, yet he doesn't care, the sensation of being _full_ more than adequate for his needs.

With Sam's hips rocking into his palm, he slides in the second finger, wincing at the slight burn. It's manageable – if anything, his cock gets even harder at the pain – he's not even touching it anymore, but it dribbles out pre-cum continuously anyway.

Exploring his own body in this way is weird, and a bit exciting, too. His insides are hotter than he had anticipated – they twitch a lot around his fingers as well, sucking in the appendages and making it difficult for him to move. He's going to come, soon, judging from how much pre-cum he's leaking, and the way his stomach clenches. He _wants_ to cum, he needs to, but Sam wishes his fingers were bigger, longer – he can barely reach his prostate, his palm is cramping up from effort—

If only it was Higgs' dick instead.

The sudden arrival of Sam's orgasm throws him off, strings of semen coating the mattress as his body convulses wildly. Oh fuck, oh fuck – he should be ashamed at the thought, but he moves his fingers faster, harder, scissoring them inside of his asshole and milking his prostate until there's nothing else coming out of him.

When it's all over, Sam collapses on the bed while avoiding his mess. He pulls his fingers out of himself in disgust and without care, not worried about hurting himself – he deserves it, for being so immoral, so wrong.

That's the second time he's thought of Higgs while masturbating – _why_? Everything about the separatist is horrible, horrible, horrible. He should be thinking about people that _aren't_ mass killers.

Everything is wrong. _He's_ wrong, messed up, confused and fumbling in the dark with only a baby by his side as a sidekick – how could Higgs do this to him? He's so full of doubts and questions that his mind is constantly swimming these days.

Sam spends a long, long time on the bed, not moving, but thinking, trying to sort out what he really wants to do – and how to deal with Higgs.

• **×•×•**

Amelie's waiting.

That's the only thing Sam has been able to make sense of. She's his sister – and he needs to rescue her, to get the answers he needs. And because... he loves her. She's the only family he has left and there's no way in hell that he's going to allow her to rot on the beach, alone and abandoned.

He can save her. He couldn't save Lucy, or Louise – but he _can_ save Amelie.

Higgs is just a thorn in his side. A very painful one, true, and one that he can't keep under control. He had planned to come up with a strategy to deal with him... yet had turned up with nothing. The terrorist is just too unpredictable to plan around. Whatever Higgs has in store for him, he'll just have to deal with it when it comes.

Sam slips on his glasses – because if the end is coming, he may as well do it in style – and steps out of the safe room with Lou in tow, hooking her up when they enter the lift.

Another flashback – it's a short one, and Sam can't make much sense out of it, but it still makes him feel like shit. Knowing how much Cliff cherished his BB is upsetting – and makes Sam wonder if he deserves Lou at all. Isn't being with her real father where she truly belongs?

Stepping off the lift, Sam freezes, the back of his neck prickling – there's someone behind him.

"Your hair looks better when it's down, Sammy-boy."

Higgs. Higgs. _Higgs_.

The other man's footsteps are heavy as they come closer to him, the dull _thud, thud, thud_ of his boots in sync with the beating of Sam's heart.

"Did you think I forgot about you?" Higgs is _right_ behind him, breathing on his neck. "Did you feel... neglected?"

Higgs takes a lock of his hair and sniffs it deeply, and the noise breaks Sam out of the trance he is in, dashing forward to run away. He makes it to the top of the ramp, out in the open, but that's as far as he gets – there's a crackle, and Higgs is behind him _again_ , holding Sam in place by the back of his collar.

"Tsk, tsk. You never learn, do you?" the terrorist sighs, then throws the porter against the wall of the distribution centre. "You can run, but I'll always be here to drag you back where you belong _._ "

Sam spins around, back against the wall, staring at Higgs straight in the face.

"Nice glasses... did you wear them for me?"

"N-no," Sam stutters, looking either side of him for a place to run – the other man notices, however, and places his hands either side of the porter's head, trapping him.

"Don't lie – you wanted to grab my attention, didn't you? Higgs smiles widely. "I've never seen you wear them before. Did that geeky fuckbuddy of yours give them to you?"

Is he... talking about Heartman?

"You're—you're _still_ stalking me?"

"Did you think I'd stop? That's cute – naïve, but cute," Higgs snorts. "I see you didn't refute the claim about that man being your fuckbuddy..."

Sam shakes his head furiously, flushing at the idea of him and _Heartman_ sleeping together. He _might've_ checked out the scientist – but it was just... natural curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less; he's _not_ promiscuous to fuck anyone and everyone, despite Higgs' strange delusions about him.

"He's just a friend," clarifies Sam, not sure why he is even explaining himself in the first place. So _what_ if they were screwing?

"You? Friends? Don't make me laugh. _I_ saw the way that nerdy fuck looked at you, eating you up with his eyes and plying you with booze... didn't I warn you about those types...?" Higgs leans in until their noses are brushing together, his BB pod hitting against Lou's, who begins to cry. "What did he do to you, when he dragged you into his home? Do you even remember, or did you pass out? Think, Sam, think – did he kiss you? Touch you? Did you wake up with his whisky breath in your face, and him going to town on your ass?"

Sam _should_ be angry and disgusted at Higgs, yet he can only look away, sullen as he remembers that Heartman had played him like a damn fool – the scientist hadn't done anything to him... as far as he was aware, but the manipulation of his vulnerable state has the porter feeling bitter. He had expected better.

"Refusing to answer, hm? That's fine—" Higgs grabs Sam by the shoulder and spins him around, facing the wall. "—I'll just have to check you, _thoroughly_."

Lou's cries get louder as Sam breaks out in a sweat, fear surging through his veins. She doesn't need to see this, or hear it – she's traumatised enough as it is, having to be his eyes to see BTs.

"Wait—" Sam pleads. "At least – let me disconnect Lou—"

"It's a tool, Sam... stop worrying so much about it," Higgs reprimands, and Sam can hear the bone-chilling click, then swish, of a blade being drawn. "Now... where should I check first?"

"No, stop— I'll let you do anything, just let me put her somewhere else—"

"...A tantalising offer, Samuel – but you know that if I want something, I'll take it regardless," Lou's wails somehow get louder still, loud enough that Higgs sighs deeply. "Ugh. Fine. Put the brat around the corner or something – trying to find Amelie has already given me a fuckin' headache, don't need the kid making it any worse."

Nodding thankfully, Sam disconnects Lou, rocking her subtly for a moment to calm her down before placing her around the side of the building. Not too far away – but far away enough that she won't have to see the disgusting act that is no doubt about to occur.

For a second he thinks about running – Higgs hadn't followed him – but the slow drawl from nearby convinces him otherwise.

"You think about running, and I'll make sure your precious BB watches every last second of it – before I crush it with my bare hands."

Sam exhales, and pats Lou's pod, heartstrings tugging as she looks at him with big eyes.

"I'll be back Lou – everything will be okay," he reassures her... or himself.

"Saaaaaam... what's taking you so long?"

Grunting, Sam makes his way back to Higgs, legs heavy and zapped of energy already. Having Lou out of his sight scares him; it doesn't feel _right_ not having his buddy by his side.

"Jesus, Sam. You look like you're about to burst into tears – it's only around the corner, you know?" Higgs sneers when Sam returns. He isn't wearing his BB pod either, the container carelessly thrown onto the floor not too far away. His disregard for his own BB has Sam's temper flaring up fast – they're _babies_. Kids, that will probably never have the chance to feel the sun on their skin, or experience a hug ever in their short lifespan; it's so utterly tragic and disturbing.

Higgs notices him eyeing up the discarded pod, grins – then places his foot on it, kicking it away further to Sam's distress. Interestingly the BB inside doesn't cry... or more worryingly, it may be in autotoxemia, considering how the terrorist is constantly surrounded by BTs.

"Fucking asshole," spits Sam, mustering as much hate as he can behind the insult. He makes a move to check on the BB, but Higgs grabs him before he can.

"Where are you going? We still have business to take care of."

"Seeing if your BB is alright, you prick. Why'd you kick it? You could have hurt it—"

"Because I knew it would make you mad, dumbass. It's _so_ easy to rile you up; people think you're a placid, unemotional man, but they don't know where your sore spots are to poke at... but _I do_ ," Higgs slams Sam face-first against the wall, his forehead scraping against the surface. "And it gives me great, _great_ joy when you respond; your anger is exceptionally beautiful."

Higgs is breathing on the back of his neck, behind his ears - Sam shudders, the silky, low tones of the terrorist tickling his skin.

"Now – what part of your body should I check first?" something gold glints out of the corner of Sam's eye – it's Higgs' knife, getting closer until the tip lightly scratches across his cheekbone. Not deep enough to draw blood, but it stings anyway. "Maybe your neck... or your waist..."

What is he even looking for? Sam hasn't got a clue – yet something tells him that if Higgs _does_ find something... it isn't going to be pretty. Not that Sam has anything to hide—

There's a tug on the back of his jumpsuit, pulling down the collar and the vest underneath to display his neck.

And it's at that moment that Sam remembers that he _does_ have something to hide.

Ah, shit.

"...What's this?" Higgs asks, tapping a patch of Sam's exposed nape with the knife. "A bruise?"

"Y-yeah—"

A hand fists itself in his hair, pulling him back and then slamming his face into the wall, so hard it's disorienting; blood drips from Sam's nose, and his vision blurs – but by some miracle his glasses don't smash.

"Don't you _dare_ lie to me again," Higgs half-spits, half-hisses into Sam's ear. "That's a fucking hickey. I knew that four-eyed freak was up to no good—"

"W-wasn't him," mumbles Sam, wiping the blood that continues to dribble out from his nose.

"'Wasn't him'? Then who was it? Let me guess – that fucking soldier you were mooning over? Or your boss-man?"

Sam doesn't answer. If he told Higgs who it was... then there's a real possibility that the Ludens Fan's shelter will be nothing but a crater the next time he goes to visit.

"None of them? Let me guess again – someone out in the field, like a porter – or a MULE?"

He remains silent.

" _Answer me_ ," Higgs growls, the knife against the hickey digging in deeper. "Or I'll grind your BB into paste."

"Prepper," Sam answers thickly, gulping down a mouthful of his own blood.

"Should have known – you'd fight against anyone else... but a prepper? You'd roll over and let them do what they want, wouldn't you?" the terrorist chuckles, but he doesn't sound very amused. "I can imagine it. Some weak weasel pushing his luck – and you let him, because you're a _good_ guy, and you pity him. Am I right?"

"Nothing happe—"

The tip of the blade sinks into skin, shallowly, and Sam shuts up.

"No lies. What happened? Did he hold you down and fuck you? Or did you fuck _him_? Was it even a man, who did this to you?"

Swallowing his shame, and reddening as he remembers the night, he responds; "he fucked between my legs."

Higgs doesn't say anything for a while.

"...He didn't put it in?"

"No – I... I asked, but..." Retelling the encounter is a lot more humiliating than Sam would have expected; even his ears are burning hot out of embarrassment.

"But...?"

"He came when I asked."

The separatist starts to laugh heartily, head falling onto Sam's shoulder as he giggles into the fabric of the jumpsuit.

"Ha – _fuck._ That's hilarious; bet the poor guy hadn't had a lay in years, and he nuts the moment he gets permission. What a dweeb. Did he at least get you off?"

"No – he offered—"

"Came to your senses, huh? Someone like that wouldn't have been able satisfy _you_ , anyway, Sam – not like I can," Higgs says cockily, thrusting his hips forward until Sam feels something hard pressing against his ass.

That's not his crotch plate.

"Uh—" Sam realises where this is heading. With Higgs talking so much, it's easy to forget – yet he can't ignore the other man's erection rubbing against his ass.

"I can make you feel good; I can give you what you need—"

"You can't give me shit," interrupts Sam, flattening himself against the wall to get as far away from Higgs as possible.

"Someone's cranky – what's the problem?" the hand that isn't holding the knife reaches around to touch Sam on his stomach, cupping it. "Was our attempt unsuccessful?"

"Of course it fuckin' was."

"You sound so sure, Sam..."

"Because I got tested," the porter can't help the slight anger from dripping into his voice, and Higgs, reliably, picks up on it.

"Bridges forced you to, didn't they?" Reluctantly, Sam nods. "Ah. And now you're pissed. But humour me; are you more angry at Bridges for putting you through that humiliation – or are you more angry at the results?"

Sam's stomach does a flip, because truthfully, he isn't too sure himself. Despite how unnatural, and how horrifying it would be to defy biology and carry the child of his enemy himself, there's a little voice in the back of Sam's mind that he would go through hell and back to have a child of his own, laws of nature be damned.

"You were hoping that, for once, someone wasn't lying to you, weren't you? That finally... someone could make you whole again," Higgs' other arm sneaks around Sam's waist, holding him into a hug. The act should be comforting, but it isn't – the knife is still in the terrorist's hand, the back of the blade digging into Sam's stomach. "But I turned out to be another dirty liar, didn't I?"

It was stupid of him to expect anything to begin with. Especially from _Higgs_ – but, damn it. He wants to just believe in _someone_ , when everyone else is lying through their teeth.

"Poor, pitiful, Sammy... or so he believes. He's so stuck in the past, that he can't see what's in front of him. It really pisses me off, y'know?"

"The fuck you mean?"

Higgs sighs. "You're so dense. You think everyone is out to get you – not that people are lying to you to spare your feelings."

"I... that's stupid. I'd rather the truth."

"I know. That's why I – _usually_ – don't lie to you; because I know you best. Maybe you should start listening to me more."

"Fuck no," Sam replies almost instantly. Why the hell would he listen to a man that has a knife pressed to his stomach? The same man that had blackmailed him, and degraded him in front of his co-workers?

"...Of course you'd say that. A shame. If you said yes, I was going to ease up on your punishment—"

"P—Punishment?" That... doesn't sound good. "Why?"

"It's the only way that my words are going to penetrate that thick skull of yours, you stupid slut. I warned you – yet you let people use you anyway."

The word _slut_ repeats over and over in Sam's head as Higgs unwraps his arms from around him, standing frozen as he feels the other man grope at his behind, pinching at the fabric of his jumpsuit.

"Keep still." Higgs orders, then there's a ripping sound. It takes Sam a moment to realise what is making the sound; then he feels something cold and sharp way too close to his ass – Higgs is cutting a fucking hole through his clothes, the blade tearing through the tough material of his work clothes all the way to his underwear.

"Wait—"

"Shut up, Sam. You said I could do what I want," Higgs nearly snarls, the knife grazing against Sam's hole. "Keep bitching, and I'll shove this into you, blade first... although you might enjoy that, you fucking whore."

"I'm not a—"

"You're not? How ironic, that the man who hates being lied to... is the biggest liar of them all," snorts Higgs, and Sam yelps when the man shoves two dry, gloved fingers into his anus. "You're loose; did you get Fragile to send someone? Or maybe she did it—"

"You're insane," Sam groans, the fingers inside of him uncomfortable. It burns; the gloves are rough and bulky, scratching against his walls as Higgs wriggles the appendages around inside of him. It doesn't feel good – and when a third finger prods at the entrance, the porter sweats. "No – don't—"

"Who entered you?"

"Nobody—" The third finger presses harder, "—I... did it myself."

How annoying, that Higgs always manages to make him spill his most embarrassing, shameful moments; at his admission, the terrorist snickers and removes his fingers, the sound of his laughter vibrating in Sam's ears as he leans forward, nipping at his earlobe.

"That's hot. Did you think about that soldier again when you did it?"

"...No."

"Oh? Then – did you think about _me_?"

Sam doesn't reply. Maybe if he doesn't answer, Higgs won't push it, and leave him alone.

It's an unrealistic expectation, as Sam's silence appears to speak louder than actual words – the other man presses closer to him, voice heavy and hot as his arm snakes around the porter's waist.

"After all I did to you – and you still fantasised about me. It would be rude to not to give you what you want." His hand reaches for the pouch where Sam keeps his blood packs, popping it open and rummaging around inside of it. "I didn't prepare anything... so this'll have to do."

"That's... disgusting."

"Do you _want_ me to go in dry? 'Cause I will, if you keep whining."

Shutting up, Sam stays still as Higgs pulls out one of the bags, hearing the packaging tear as the other man impatiently tears it open at the corner. He doesn't expect to hear the separatist swallowing; curious, Sam looks to see what's going on – and is immediately disgusted at the sight of Higgs sucking out the blood from the pack.

"What's with that look? It tastes good... _you_ taste good," Higgs says, blood dripping from his mouth. His long tongue chases the red beads that threaten to run away, canines flashing dangerously as he throws the unsettled porter a smirk.

Torn between wanting to reprimand Higgs for being gross, but also knowing that it'll be fruitless, Sam just grunts, leaning his forehead against the wall and resigning himself to his fate. The less he struggles... the easier it'll go, right?

That's what the courier expects. Yet his gut is telling him that when Higgs is involved, nothing is ruled out – and his instincts are proven right as Higgs unzips his pants, and only bothers to apply the substitute lube to his own cock hastily before discarding the empty bag onto the floor.

"Time to hear you scream, Sam."

Higgs thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt, and by God, does Sam let out a blood-curdling scream to his own ears, impaled on the terrorist's girth with little to no preparation. The man is so tall that it feels like his feet are barely touching the ground, so he rests his arms on the wall as balance, shielding his face as Higgs' moves without even letting him get adjusted first.

" _Higgs_ ," Sam whines against the wall, his enemy's name bitter in his mouth as he speaks it, but he's in too much agony to care. "I-it _hurts_."

"Good," puffs Higgs, his hands on Sam's waist as he pulls him back, the golden knife digging into his hip. The presence of the blade still has Sam on edge; why hasn't Higgs put it away? "I said this was your punishment. Did you think I was going to let you off? Oh, no no – I've let you taste pleasure, I even drowned you in it; but this time, I'm going to show you just how ruthless I can be."

And as if to emphasise his point, he moves faster, at a pace so crazed and rough, that Sam's only option is to hold onto the wall and take whatever Higgs gives to him.

This isn't what he expected. This is painful, and scary – completely different to how Higgs had treated him last time. There's no gentleness to his touches, or whispered words of soothing encouragement; the terrorist's hands are digging into his flesh, and the only noises he makes are growls, broken up by the odd derogatory slur that in any other context, Sam would have rolled his eyes at, but hearing them as he's being so brutally assaulted has him burning up in humiliation.

"You nasty little slut," Higgs grinds out, his voice scratchy and low. "I give you so much... yet you continue to look for more. Am I not good enough for you? Or are you just greedy?"

Oh, fantastic. Higgs is mumbling about stuff that Sam doesn't understand, speaking so vaguely that infuriatingly, it peaks the porter's curiosity to ask.

"What the hell are you talking abou—?" Sam cuts off when Higgs' hips slam against him sharply, as if punishing him for talking. Even with the blood as lube, Higgs' cock still burns as it forces its way inside of him, the pain making him tense up, and thus making it hurt more when the length pulls back out. Sam knows it'll be a lot easier for him if he just relaxes – yet the situation has him frightened, even more so than when he comes face-to-face with a pack of BTs. He can deal with them – but he can't deal with Higgs, what with his unpredictable behaviour and vagueness.

"Do you know how much it pisses me off, to think about other people touching you? I thought I wouldn't have to worry about that, considering your 'condition'... yet apparently, I was wrong," Higgs sighs. "Maybe I should mark you, somehow... let everyone know who you really belong to."

Sam doesn't want to stick around to find out how, exactly, the terrorist is going to brand him. He promised he wouldn't fight – yet this isn't what he signed up for. Fuck this, and fuck Higgs, he thinks, as he jabs an elbow back, hitting the other man in the ribs and winding him, taking the chance to break free from Higgs' embrace and run, the blood sticky and warm as it drips down his thighs.

He doesn't make it very far. As soon as his boots touch the dirt at the end of the distribution centre, a weight slams against him, toppling the porter over and pinning him to the ground, black, oily BT hands holding him into place.

"Fuck you—" Higgs spits, quite literally, onto the back of Sam's head. "—Guess you don't care about what happens to your little BB after all, huh? Unlike you, I keep my promises – and once I'm done with you, I'm going to smash it to smithereens."

The porter doesn't even get a chance to plead for Lou's safety, as Higgs moves him onto all fours and re-enters, ripping at his jumpsuit so more of his ass is exposed and he gives the bare skin a slap. It stings a little; then it starts to hurt more, and more, until Sam realises – _Higgs is cutting into his skin_.

"What—?"

"Hush," Higgs orders, tapping his knife against the delicate skin of the courier's ass cheek. "I'm trying to concentrate."

Hanging his head, Sam shuts up. He can't really fight back, anyway, as the BTs continue to hold him in place, supporting him up as his arms quiver and grow weak as the terrorist cuts into his flesh deeply enough that Sam knows it'll leave a scar, blood seeping out of the wounds. It's quiet as Higgs works, barring the odd whimper that Sam can't contain, bordering almost on sobs. The pain is bearable – knowing that he'll be permanently scarred from his enemy, on an intimate place, isn't, however.

"All done," announces Higgs when he's finally finished. He slaps the cheek, right across the wound, and Sam howls, tears springing to his eyes. "This should keep people away from you. Can you guess what it says?" a finger traces the marks, aggravating them further, and through the agony, Sam somehow works out what Higgs had branded on him with a degree of horror.

"Y...you wrote ' _Higgs_ '." Out of everything the man could have carved – he had to write his _name_. On his _ass_. The embarrassment is too fucking much; being raped is mortifying enough, yet Higgs still finds ways to demean him further, stripping away the last remaining tatters of the porter's pride until there'll be nothing left. He's already broken, already beaten down by life – yet Higgs seems determined to sink him even lower, if that is possible.

"I did, I did. Well done. Now people will know to keep their grubby little hands off you – or else." Higgs sounds cheerful. Not surprising, as Sam's torment always seems to brighten him up. Sick bastard. "I'd really hate to cause some unnecessary voidouts, just because some horny fucks couldn't keep their hands off what is _mine_."

"I'm— _I'm not yours_ ," protests Sam, and his remark earns another whack to his backside.

"Bold of you to claim that, when you masturbate over me. Oh, Sam – I bet I'm on your mind all the time. When you sleep. Eat. Shower. I've permeated all of you, all of your existence; your aphenphosmphobia isn't even reacting to me anymore. Because – you want me. You want _this._ " Higgs reaches around, grabbing at Sam's crotch, "See? You're hard."

Sam hangs his head in pure, unadulterated shame, making a startled noise as the other man rubs at his cock through his jumpsuit. The fabric is coarse, and rough, yet the porter grinds down into the terrorist's palm, the only thing during this whole ordeal that's actually pleasurable in some way.

"If only Amelie could see you like this, humping away at my hand like some sort of animal in heat – that false image she has of you would be shattered in seconds..." Leaning over, Higgs whispers, "maybe I should tell her what a slut of a brother she has, when I get to her—"

"Don't you fucking dare," Sam attempts to growl, but the warning ends up sounding weak and slightly pathetic as Higgs' hand squeezes tighter on his junk, the pressure increasing as Sam wriggles around, trying, hopelessly, to break free. It's useless; the more he moves, the stronger the BTs hold onto him. They don't care about his privacy, or personal space. They touch him, _stroke_ him, in places that makes Sam feel weak, their dead hands that would normally strike terror into him, are instead causing him to shiver and gasp – not out of fear, but something much more regrettable.

Fuck. Higgs has to be controlling them. Although that doesn't seem to be the case, as he's starting to thrust again. Unfortunately, from previous experience, Sam knows the signs when Higgs is too wrapped in the moment. He stops talking, apart from breathing deeply, and his movements become uneven and sloppy.

Perhaps it's a good sign, Sam hopes. Maybe Higgs isn't going to drag this out and come soon – he'll just have to grin and bear it until he does, even though it's painful, from how vigorous the terrorist rams into him, to how the cuts on his ass sting every time Higgs goes balls-deep, flesh meeting on flesh. Yet Sam tries his best to keep silent, because riling the bastard up further could be disastrous. No, it's better if he stays quiet and let the man use him how he likes, even if he _is_ currently using him like some sort of fuck-toy. The idea of being just a hole for Higgs to fuck makes him feel dirty and used – although it feels remarkably similar to when Bridges lies to him and violates his personal space.

"I don't like it when you're quiet," Higgs pipes up, quite suddenly. "It makes me think you're not enjoying this." The BTs that are holding one of Sam's wrists ease up, but as soon as he realises, Higgs has snatched it up and is teasing off his glove. "You made such a nice scream earlier. I'd love to hear it again."

The words don't fully sink in, until Sam catches the glint of gold. And even then – it takes a few moments for him to comprehend what has happened, the BTs hissing and his blood pounding in his ears as he stares at the back of his hand in shock.

But then, the pain comes rushing all at once, and the tears come before he yells out in agony as Higgs twists the knife in deeper through his hand, the dagger acting as some sort of oversized thumbtack as it keeps him pinned to the ground. Sam knows better than to struggle – he'll just slice his hand to pieces if he does.

"Yes, louder, Sam, _louder_!" Higgs slams into him hard, hard enough to jostle his hand and make him emit an ugly sob. "Yes, yes, _yes_ – let those motherfuckers at Bridges hear you _scream_ , Sam—"

"—You're— _sick_ ," Sam heaves out between each thrust, trying his best to stop his tears. But pain is pain – this is searing and intense, different from a tumble down a mountain or tasered by a MULE. This is... deliberate. Personal. Higgs _wants_ him to hurt.

"Then you must be too—" sneers Higgs, reaching around to practically crush Sam's dick, "—because what sort of man stays hard, after _that_? Maybe I should cut it off – it isn't like you have a use for it, anyway..."

"Nononono—" Any other time, Sam would have taken it as a bad joke. Not now. Higgs is so wild, so crazy, that truthfully, the courier is already saying his mental goodbyes to his penis, hoping that he dies during the process before Higgs can slice it clean off. Maybe repatriation would somehow save it.

"Ah, relax," Higgs says, fisting a hand in Sam's hair and pulling it by the roots, using it as leverage to stab his thick cock in and out of Sam's abused hole at breakneck speed, "I like seeing your tortured face too much when you come, to ever think about mutilating you there..." There's a fleeting pause, and Sam swears he can almost hear the cogs in Higgs' mind crunching as he thinks. "I really want to see your face when you come."

The knife embedded in Sam's hand is suddenly pulled out, and the resulting gush of blood causes the BTs to recoil and groan before disappearing, no longer keeping the porter trapped. If it isn't for Higgs' hand, he'd probably collapse onto the floor in a puddle. Sam doesn't get that option however – he's brought up onto his knees, back flat against Higgs' chest and head tilted up so he's forced to stare into the eyes of his enemy.

There's nothing good, in his eyes that drip with black tar tears. No warmth. No trace of humanity – only a cold cruelty that instills a sense of dread deep with Sam's gut and turns his heart to ice. It's disturbing, to see a man so clearly deranged. There's so much to see, to read, but Sam no longer wants to look. Any traces of pity he had for Higgs, has died.

The terrorist is staring him down, too. The bloodstained dagger idles in his other hand, and he brings it to his own lips to lick away at the gory mess, his tongue moving slowly against the metal. If it wasn't so sickening, it would be... kind of erotic, in a way.

Sam's eyes flutter as the hand in his hair scratches at his scalp, the action causing him to lean into the touch involuntarily. It's an odd moment – Higgs even stops licking his knife, and seems to lean in slightly, breathing evenly, albeit deeply, as if he's going to go in for a kiss.

Just as the silence becomes stifling and uncomfortably long, Higgs makes his move, bending down to peck at Sam's sweaty forehead, unbearably soft.

The separatist's lips say one story, yet his hands tell another; once again he pulls on the porter's hair, and Sam only just about notices the dagger catching the dreary, bleak daylight as it hovers over his neck, before it plunges in, tearing through his flesh in a line until a gush of blood flows from the wound like hot lava.

It's deep enough that Sam guesses it'll probably kill him. But not fast; it'll be a slow, agonising death as he bleeds out, slipping into unconsciousness and waking up in the seam, freed from Higgs' clutches – at least temporarily. The thought is so comforting, that Sam shuts his eyes and waits for death to come, and doesn't even bother to apply pressure onto the wound as Higgs pulls out the blade.

"Hey, I'll strike you a deal, Sammy-boy," Higgs mutters against his forehead, and Sam has to contain a sigh. Of course he can't even die in peace, without the other man spoiling it. "If you come before you die, I'll spare your BB. How does that sound?"

Lou. Sam had forgotten about her – about why he was even letting this sick fuck abuse him like this in the first place. And he had sentenced her to death, all because he ran away like a _coward_. She's waiting for him, all alone and probably scared – this is probably the only chance he's going to get to make things right.

He tries to reply, but can only gurgle his answer as a metallic taste floods his mouth. Higgs has the audacity to laugh, patting his head briefly as he moves his hand to around the porter's neck, pressing down to stem the blood flow. Sam hisses, the hot, hot, tingly pain revving up as fights to keep his grip on his consciousness. There's a clattering noise as what Sam assumes is the accursed dagger dropping to the ground, it's purpose served, and Higgs takes advantage of having a hand spared to rub Sam's flagging cock, palming through the layers of fabric roughly until he's fully erect again.

Coming is going to be difficult, Sam realises, as the throbbing pain from his wounds keeps him from fully focusing on whatever pleasure he can take from Higgs' actions. In an attempt to bring himself closer to the edge, he cants his hips back onto the other man's girth, but even that brings pain as the cuts on his ass grate against the rugged material of the terrorist's clothing. But Sam tries his damned hardest anyway, choking back the tears and blood that spills from his mouth while trying to chase the fleeting, muted shocks of pleasure he feels both from Higgs jerking him off, and the irregular moments the cock inside of him skids against his prostate as he fucks himself on the length.

It is barely enough – even when Higgs himself starts moving again, his skilled hips driving forward in a steady, continuous rhythm, striking at Sam's prostate every time he goes in deep. _That_ feels – as much as the porter detests himself for thinking it – _good_ , yet the pain from all his wounds is much greater. The noises Sam makes at his predicament are borderline abhorrent; the blood in his throat is choking him, and every gasp, every moan, and every cry is punctuated by wet, gargling sound as he tries to clear his airways – with limited success.

He isn't going to make it. He's blacking out as it is, the edges of his vision growing dimmer and dimmer until all it would take for him to slip into the cold depths of the seam is just closing his eyes. But as soon Sam feels himself start to slip, Higgs throws him a lifeline, teasing a finger around the edge of the wound before dipping it in, a disgusting, nauseating _squelch_ coming from the cut as Higgs plays with it.

The pain is immense – so much so, that it shocks Sam back into consciousness... and, rather bewilderingly, into coming, spluttering on his own blood while his body seizes up as he ejaculates, Higgs' hand continuing to milk the outline of cock through the jumpsuit.

"Well done," Higgs congratulates, sliding himself out the moment Sam's twitching subsides, "you saved your BB... but is it really worth it, when doomsday is so near?"

Yes, it was worth it. She's worth it. He'd die a million times, and suffer through a thousand rounds of torture and humiliation, just so he can continue to hear her laugh. Sam can't speak, can't tell Higgs that no matter what he does – when it comes to Lou, he'll always save her.

"Such fire in your eyes, despite being on the brink of death..." the terrorist gets up, stalking around to Sam's front. His bloodstained cock juts in front of the courier's face, the erection looming over him, but Sam doesn't care what Higgs is going to do with it. His part is over. With no pressure on his throat, the blood pours and spills, his front soaked, and a heaviness seeping into the marrow of his bones as the other side calls out to him.

Sam can't process pain any longer, not even when Higgs yanks his head back and causes the cut to split wider, neck on display. He's completely numb, hanging on by a mere thread, only dimly aware that Higgs is masturbating, chest heaving, fist working fast until he comes, his release splattering onto Sam's open wound, and the last remaining dregs splash onto his glasses as Higgs squeezes it out.

The warmth of the cum on his skin is the last thing Sam remembers, as he sinks into the cold, cold arms of death, her embrace granting him a few short moments of blissful nothingness – until he is cruelly plunged into the icy waters of the seam, bodiless—

But _alive_.

**Author's Note:**

> Really don't have anything to say, lmao. 
> 
> Part 3 (out of 5?) sometime within the next century. 
> 
> Also a shout-out to my beta readers... and a thanks to you too for reading. 💖


End file.
